Inspirational Driving
by NosrednAD
Summary: Gabriella is a writer, suffering from a severe case of writer's block and a dull life. Can a certain blue-eyed bartender spice up both her love and daily life, and give her motivation, beginning with just a ride home from the local pub?Full summary inside
1. Prologue

**Summary**_**: **_Gabriella Montez is a, usually, successful writer, who writes her books about events that occur during her own life. By changing names and replacing real characters with fictional ones, she creates stories that are both enjoyable to read—and easy to write. Unfortunately, she seems to be suffering from an intense case of writers block- and a dull life. Her name is being forgotten, and her rent is hardly getting paid-- saved by a less than satisfactory job at the nearest book store. But can a certain blue-eyed bartender begin to save her career, whilst spicing up both her love and daily life, with just a single ride home from the local pub?

**Main Character Pairings: **Troyella

**Genre: **Romance/Drama

**Rating: **T

**Author's Note: **_Oh jeez, I'm starting another story. Someone hit me! This one is a little different for me—not being fantasy and all...Still, it seems fun. Let's see..where and when did I think this up...Driving home from Wegman's with my mom around 5...thinking about finishing a chapter of my other story...yep. Ha. I'm gonna try this is Gabriella's P.O.V. I might change it later if that doesn't work out...ANYWAYS..here's the **prologue** :) ...peace out!_

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I stared blankly at the row of books before me, each spine reflecting the color of the cover, which would hold a design or picture trying to allure someone into reading it. I let my fingers brush the worn fabric that protected the pages from the dust and basic erosion that was brought upon them every time someone cracked them open. I plucked one off the shelf, careful in case it was indeed as old as it looked, and if so, I wanted to avoid spilling the detached pages across the blue carpet of this out-dated bookstore.

The edges looked like crumpled paper and frayed cloth, the pages were a dull yellow, and it had a musty smell that made me crinkle my nose and hold the book away. When I turned the to a page that seemed to be in the middle, the first section of the book lay limply in my hand, hardly supported by the discombobulated spine.

So far, I loved this book. My attention aroused, I collapsed into the ugly-brown recliner set up for costumers and began to read the ancient words.

Here's the thing; I love, love, _love _old books. The more worn-out, mildew-smelling, and all around abused the book is, the more I want to read it. Of course, the story's quality counts, but first impressions are important. I get the whole "don't judge a book by it's cover," thing, but if I don't like the way the book looks, I just can't really bring myself to read it.

I 'd been unnaturally picky when it came to books during that time, so not many books made it from work to my own shelf at home. I was looking for something, something that I'd never needed before, and I was looking for it in places that I'd never dreamed of looking.

I was looking for _inspiration_ for my own story. And I was looking for it in _someone else's book. _So, for the sake of my own unwritten and undecided plot, I needed a good book to read. I'd never needed inspiration before; I'd always had something to write about when I wanted to write. I write about my own life, so all I need to do is think back on the past few months and boom- I've got a story.

My name is Gabriella Montez, I'm twenty-six, I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and I've had two books published in my lifetime. The first was when I was six-teen, and my father went away to war. As you can imagine, the book was about a girl struggling with teenage drama, her mother's depression, and her father's absence.

The second was when I was eight-teen, and my mother died of cancer. That one was about a girl who's mother dies (surprise!), leaving her to deal with an alcoholic boyfriend (who she later dumps), and the temptation of turning to drugs and alcohol herself.

Okay, so, I do exaggerate my life a bit, for the sake of keeping my readers interested.

But the thing is, this time, I've got nothing to exaggerate.

Everything you read from here on out is the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth.

If your worried now that you'll get bored because, let's face it, life isn't all that it's cracked up to be, don't be discouraged. Personally, I'm pretty sure it's not the heroine of this story, but the hero, that makes it so...inviting.

Because Troy Bolton never once gave me a a reason to be bored—sad, occasionally, happy, constantly, and interested, forever more.

Everyone has a cure for their own writer's block, though it is sometimes hard to find. The basic formula is motivation, inspiration, and excitement. For me that equals Troy Bolton, Troy Bolton, and Troy Bolton.

Troy Bolton and his sleek, black, smooth Chevy Volt.


	2. The Bartender

"Gabriella!" Called an all too familiar and masculine voice.

I looked up from my favorite, ugly-brown recliner, pulling my nose out of the book I'd previously been fully engrossed in. A tall, lithe guy stumbled down the isle of shelves before he slid to a stop. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I imagined the sound of a car's wheels screeching. Panting, he held his hands on his knees and coughed.

"Hi, Sam." I said, unsure why he was so winded.

"Gabriella." He panted, straightening. "What are you _doing_?"

I waved the book in the air for a moment, still uncertain. My index finger was pinched between the pages, marking my spot. Sam's eyes—so dark they were almost black—widened in exasperation. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't let Ava catch you reading during you shift." He warned me. I blinked.

"My shift?" I said in confusion. "But it doesn't start until one."

The black-haired man shook his head again. He stared at me like I was off my nut, in such a way that I almost questioned my own sanity. It was still daylight, wasn't it?

I discreetly peeked to make sure, relaxing when the bright glow from the sun was still lighting the store.

"It's one-fifteen, Gabriella." He deadpanned. My eyes widened. One-fifteen?

Flipping the book open, I looked at the page number, and paled slightly. I'd read around a hundred pages since I started, not even noticing. I snatched up a pen and jotted the page number down on my palm. I started to walk back up the isles with Sam, muttering the last names on the books before I placed the one I was reading back on the shelf.

"You really should start reading at _home._" He laughed. "God knows, if you get fired from this job I might loose my mind."

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "I'm sure you'd be fine." I replied, clipping my name tag to my shirt. "You love this job."

"No." He said, raising his eyebrows, his dark liquid eyes locked on me. "_You_ love this job. _I _love the people."

"No." I said evenly. I avoided his gaze and went behind the counter. "I love the books. The job sucks."

"Whatever." He sighed in his annoying way of sounding like a kid. "Anyways, I'm going up to New York for Thanksgiving next week; there's some family reunion going on up in Rochester at my aunt's place. I guess everyone's going, so if I don't I'll be the topic of conversation all night."

I laughed. "That sounds fun...You should go even if everyone isn't, though. I mean, it's better than spending thanksgiving alone." I added the last part pointedly; I was always bugging that he need to hurry up and get married so that he would stop complaining about being lonely. He usually shot back a reply about how, I, too, was living alone in my apartment.

Today though, he just stared at me. I checked in some books that were in the bin marked "returns", and started to alphabetize them.

"What about you, Gabriella?" He asked suddenly. I blinked, turning my head to the side.

"Thanksgiving?" He nodded. "I'll probably go up to see my dad. He gets pretty lonely up at the hospital. I know he hates being confined to bed, so the least I can do is bring him some home-made cranberry sauce."

My dad was once a soldier, but a wound in battle had him bed-ridden for pretty much the rest of his life. He couldn't walk, paralyzed from the waist down, and his heart was bad. Basically, he was getting old. My own schedule wasn't constant enough to take care of him, so, although it broke my heart, he had to live in a hospital. My dad was the only person in my family I had left, other than my uncle in Spain or something who I'd never met.

Thankfully, the government paid his medical bills. I'm not poor, or anything, but paying those kind of bills were too much for me.

"Gabriella." Sam said seriously. "You keep telling me to get a girlfriend, but I think you're lonelier than I am."

"I am not lonely!" I gasped, stacking the books in my arms so that I could barely see and carrying them to the shelves. It was true, never once had I considered myself lonely. When I think back on it, it was probably because my being so alone came gradually, so I never really felt bothered by it. No, I wasn't lonely. I was just...._bored._

Coming home to an empty apartment, knowing that when you get there nothing could have possibly changed because your the only one with a key. Sitting down to write because that's your profession, but you've got nothing to write about because there's not enough spontaneous people in your life _to_ write about. That's boring.

The most boring part is a writer's block going on for years. Every writer knows that writer's block is like a disease—it won't go away unless you know the cause and the cure. I knew the cause—my life was boring.

Now I just needed a cure.

In my thoughts, and hasty attempt to get away from Sam, I didn't notice the _wall_that marked the back of the store. I walked stupidly right into it, knocking a few books to the floor and causing my own stack to quiver. I stumbled backwards, and the top book fell to the floor. Cursing, I layed the stack on a table and turned to pick up the book.

Only, it wasn't on the ground anymore. Sam had it, a playful glint in his eye. I knew that look, and I knew what he was going to do. I narrowed my eyes as Sam suggestively placed the book above the shelf, where I could never reach it.

"Come _on_, Sam." I said. He always made sure I knew that he was taller than me, and used it against me in instances such as this.

"Admit it," He said. "Admit that your lonely, or I'll leave the book up there."

I cringed. As much as I love old, tattered, and busted up books, I take extremely good care of my own. I wouldn't _purposely _ruin a book. And the thought of leaving a perfectly good book up on the shelf to gather dust and mold made me cringe. Stupid Sam and his knowledge of what makes me mad.

"Give me the book!" I tried to jump up and reach it, but my finger tips hardly made it to the top shelf. I stood on the bottom shelf, knowing it could hold my weight because I did it everyday to reach books for customers, and pulled the book off the shelf. Sam looked mildly surprised as I began to put the books away.

I was feeling quite pleased with myself, to have beat Sam at his own game. I didn't let it show though, I just ignored him as he followed me down the isle. I continued helping costumers and cleaning with him talking in my ear, the words blowing over my head. It must have been hours before Ava, the store owner, spotted Sam spending more time bothering me than working.

"Samuel!" She snapped. Ava was a large, short woman with gray hair tucked neatly into a bun behind her head. She could be kind at times, but she had a nasty temper. "Leave the girl alone!"

Sam shut his mouth and scurried off, like a cat running from a dog.

"Thank-you, Ava." I said, putting some money into register. Ava grunted.

"Yeah, well, it's almost eight. Your shift is over; go home, child." She said, as the bell that signaled the door's opening rang.

I started to argue that I could use the hours and had nothing better to do at home, but I broke off when I noticed the couple that had walked into the store. They must have been around my age, their later twenties. Their fingers were entangled together, swinging at their sides. The girl giggled when the guy murmured something under his voice and smacked his chest playfully.

I stared at their hands, holding the others tightly. I felt frozen, my chest beat painfully in my chest. That girl, I thought. Is she bored? She doesn't look bored.

"Montez." Ava's voice brought me out of my stupor.

"I-I have to go." I said, and I rushed out of the store.

----

I don't know what made me do it, but after I practically ran out of the bookstore, I got into my Hyundai Sonata and instead of going home, where I was _supposed_ to go, I drove down any street I could find. I didn't want to go home; there was nothing waiting for me there. I could have gone to see my dad, but I was on the verge of tears.

So I just drove, hating my car for it's bumpy ride and it's ugly gray coat. They said it was silver, at the dealership, but it was definitely gray. Stupid, stupid. I even had to register the fact that, when the light turned red, I should stop. I had to stop short though, and my head bobbed forward, almost smacking the steering wheel.

My throat was thick, and my nose burned. I turned up the radio so that the car vibrated with the beat. I hands were shaking, and I was scolding myself furiously.

_Stupid, Gabby!_ I thought. _You don't need a man. Hell, you don't need anyone. _

The light turned green, and I moved forward, suddenly wondering where I was going. My eyes burned as the hot tears welled up, and I bit my lip trying to hold them back. Why was a crying? Nothing had changed for the last eight years, and it hadn't bothered me before. Was I having a meltdown?

Eight years...Now I felt old.

_God, _I felt stupid. So stupid as tears blurred my vision so much that I had to pull over. I covered my face with my hands and let out a sob, turning off the engine. My shoulders shook and I shivered, noticing how dark it was. I looked up to see where I was, praying that it wasn't the wrong side of town.

Somehow, the thought of me, the skinny little emotionally-challenged girl in a town of drug-dealers and gangs didn't settle well.

Fortunately, as I looked up, that wasn't quite where I was. I was in the plaza; a row of shops, stores, and pubs grouped together around one large parking lot. When I looked closer, the "24/7" sign on the pub I had stopped in front of was blinking and catching my attention.

My empty stomach (I didn't take a lunch break today, since I ate before my shift) snarled at me, and I felt famished.

You'd be surprised how much energy dealing with Sam, who just happened to be my best-guy-friend, takes up.

At the same time, I wasn't exactly in the mood for a big dinner. I stared at the pub's door, indecisive if I should go in, drink and forget, or go home and sleep like any mature, adult woman would.

Then again, they might have free peanuts at the bar....

By then I was wiping my eyes, blowing my nose and shaking off my little sob fest. I opened the door and stepped out, shivering and cursing at myself for not wearing a thicker coat. Locking the door to my car—although I can't say I'd miss it if it were stolen—I stashed the keys into my pocket and walked into the bar.

The first thing I noticed was the warmth. It was cozy and somewhat muggy, but much better than the cold outside. The second was the people. The place was less than packed, but it definitely wasn't empty. At least twenty people. The third, I noticed as I approached the bar, was the noise. For such a small crowd, it sounded like I was at a Micheal Jackson concert or something. And the fourth thing, as I sat at the bar and pulled the bowl of peanuts towards me gratefully, was that I was the only young woman here. They were all older women or men, so I situated myself closer to the women, but still a few seats away.

I picked at the peanuts, trying not to look like I hadn't eaten in days. To be honest, what I really wanted to do was take that bowl and dump the peanuts back like a shot of whiskey or something. I was moderate, though, in my peanut snatching.

I was watching all the people, yelling and laughing, banging their drinks on the tables and whooping. The quietest place was the bar itself, where half the people looked depressed.

I hope I didn't. Okay, so I was a bit emotional today, but I really didn't need to look like a depressed drunk on top of it all.

"Hey." I heard a voice and directed my attention to behind the bar. Of course, I had been zoning out, so when I noticed the bar tender standing directly in front of me I nearly fell off the stool. I placed a hand over my heart and he blinked.

"Jesus, you scared me." I breathed.

Understanding washed over his face, soon replaced with amusement. He had clear blue eyes, deep brown hair, and a slight stubble on his chin. I won't lie, he was kind of handsome, for a guy working at a run-of-the-mill pub.

…

Okay, so he was damn gorgeous. Anyways...

"Sorry," He smiled a heartbreaking smile. I sucked in a breath and suppressed a fan-girl 'sqeee!', disguising it as catching my breath. "Can I get you something?"

I blinked. "What?"

Apparently, meltdown-recovery includes absolute stupidity.

"Something." He repeated, frowning slightly. "To drink."

"Oh." I blinked. I felt out of it today. So of course, I continued to make a fool out of myself. "I dunno."

Seriously? _I dunno_? I must have been out of my mind. Luckily for me, the guy was extremely patient. He must deal with a lot of incomprehensible drunks. He laughed. I thought, _don't laugh at me. _But I didn't say anything.

"How about water?" He suggested. At the moment, I thought he was brilliant. There was a certain glow in his eyes that kept distracting me, so my replies were kind of distant.

"Uh, sure."

"K." He walked away to get my water, and I started to zone out again.

I was really close to discovering the secret to life—I swear, but a single tap on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. I turned away from the bar, facing a group of men, a few years older than me, at least. I stared at them expectantly, waiting for whatever they had to say.

"Heyyy," One slurred, putting his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and rolled my eyes, turning back to the bar. "Aw, don't be like that."

"Go away." I growled. I was definitely not in the mood for this.

"Come one, sweetie." Another said, leaning onto the counter and smiling at me. I noticed that one of his eye brows was slightly higher that the other. "We just wanna talk. I'll buy you a drink."

"No. Thanks." I wasn't grateful though.

"Please, I promise you'll have fun?" He said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. A burst of fury welled up in my chest, and I smacked his hand away.

Maybe I didn't mention this, but I really can't stand being touched. Especially not around my neck or face. "Touch me again." I snarled, but in the tone that meant "Don't fucking touch me."

The guy put his hands up in surrender. "That's alright." He practically purred. "You're feisty; that's just fine."

"Guys," The bartender was back, and he didn't look pleased. "Back off. You've already caused problems tonight. Calm down or I'll have you thrown out."

One of the guys snorted, in an exaggerated way, too. "Oh jeez, you couldn't make us leave if you tried."

The bartender narrowed his eyes and glared at them with such contempt that even I felt a chill. Seriously, the guy looked harmless until he glared. The group stepped back, clearly showing that their bark was worse than their bite. One of them layed his hand on my back and muttered something about seeing me later.

Maybe, if I had been in my right mind, I wouldn't have done it. But clearly I wasn't myself today. Besides, I _told_ them not to touch me. Sort of. So it's not surprise that as soon as his fingers came in contact with my back, I stood up from the stool, pulled my arm back, and sank my fist into the guy's jaw. He stumbled backwards, clutching his face in pain. The other guys backed away, their eyes wide in shock.

They muttered a few insults before stumbling out of the bar, their wounded friend following close behind. I sat back into my stool with a huff.

The bar had gone silent, people stared at me, gawking.

"I changed my mind." I said in an irritated voice to the dumbfounded bartender. "Get me vodka or something."

---

To put it simply, by the time there were only a few people left, I was wasted. The bartender, Troy, I learned his name, was still around cleaning about pouring me drinks. I'm sure I'd said some stupid things that I would never remember, but he was a pretty good sport.

"But you know what?" I said loudly. The few people left in the bar had joined our little conversation.

Troy looked amused. "What?"

"I don't even _need _a man in my life. I can take care of myself. Plus, my apartment is small."

"Amen to that." A lady, whose name was Carly, said, holding up her drink. She had red hair that was definitely dyed, because she was too old to still have colored hair. She wore a biker jacket. "Men are just a little fill in so that humans can keep on reproducing."

I nodded in agreement.

Troy put a hand to his chest in mock hurt. I think he knew not to take anything the people at the bar said seriously. "I'm hurt," He said. "Really."

"Except for you, Troy." Another woman said. "There aren't a lot of good men left, but your definitely a good one."

I looked at them all, not really knowing Troy. He smiled at her. "Thank-you, Tina."

"That's right," Carly said, slamming her hand on the counter, as if to prove her point. "This guy," She said to me, putting her hand on Troy's arm. "Is the nicest person within a five mile radius. You know, I think the reason I still come to this place is to see Troy."

I was still trying to calculate what a "five mile radius" was. That's how drunk I was. Once I was all caught up, I yawned, looking around for a clock. When I didn't see one, I looked over at Troy, who was watching me curiously. "What time is it?" I said, still looking for a clock.

"One A.M." He said, looking down at a watch on his wrist. Another bartender was there now, his name was Ryan and he had blonde hair. He didn't talk with us that much, though.

"Goddammit." I said, pouting. Tina rose her eyebrows. "I have..to go." For some reason, I paused between _have_ and _to_.

I stood up and slid out of the stool, swaying slightly on my feet. I shuffled around my pockets before I pulled out my keys. I wondered if I would be able to tell my apartment key, store key, and car key apart.

"Whoa." Troy said suddenly. "You're _not _driving home."

I blinked. "I can do it! I'm a good driver."

"Gabriella." He said patiently. "You can't even walk straight."

As my luck would have it, as soon as he said that, I stumbled into a poll. I frowned, rubbing my head. Tina snorted and Carly snickered. Only Troy looked mildly concerned.

"But my house is like...a gazillion miles away." I whined. "And it's cold outside."

"Better tired and cold than dead, babe." Carly said, sipping her drink again.

I had to think of a way to get them to let me drive. I _really_ didn't want to walk. I thought for a few minutes while they all waited for me to respond. "But.." I said, making my eyes wide as possible. "What if those guys from earlier are waiting for me?"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because suddenly Troy's face hardened. He must have something against gang-bangers...or whatever those guys were. Just a couple of drunks, most likely. He sighed. "My shift is over. I'll drive you home."

I blinked.

Huh?

That wasn't really what I'd been shooting for. I was hoping something more along the lines of, "Oh, when you put it that way, you should definitely drive." It was better than walking though, when I thought about it. I paused, hesitating. It really did go against my better judgment to take a ride from some guy I really don't know. Then again, I wasn't making the best decisions tonight, now was I?

I thought about what Carly had said, about Troy being the nicest guy in a 5 mile radius. But what if that was a facade, and he was really some psychopathic killer? Hey, it happens.

But, I just _really _didn't want to walk.

"Fine." I said, pocketing my keys.

"Good." He said, tossing a cloth to Ryan and saying that he'd see him later. "Let's go."

I made a _hmph_ sound, but let him steer me towards the doors anyways. Carly and Tina called, in their best sing-song voices, "By-ye Troy. By-ye Gabriella."

I called an unnecessarily loud goodbye over my shoulder, and Troy, who was right behind me cringed and waved over his shoulder. I hugged my shoulders, feeling the cold bite at my skin. He stared distastefully at my car before steering my towards his.

I didn't even protest. That's how much I hate my car. I was secretly hoping that someone would take it over night.

Troy opened the passenger door for me, and I slid into his black Chevy Volt. He shut the door after me and got in on the other side. The seats were leather and the inside was a lot roomier than it looked from the outside. Not only did the car look cool, but even it's name was pretty cool. I mean, Volt? Come on.

"Where do you live?" He asked, and I had to stop admiring his car long enough to answer.

"An apartment." I said. Stupid, stupid, drunk me. I saw that amusement light up his eyes again, and my heartbeat picked up a bit.

"Where, I said." He repeated.

"Oh." I blinked and thought hard. Where did I live...For some reason, when I tried to think of a street name, I was coming up with blanks. "I...I dunno."

"You don't know." Troy repeated, and when I nodded to confirm this, he shook his head. He let out a breath, and I noticed the way his chest moved when he breathed. His black shirt kind of hugged him, so it was a pretty good sight. "Can you call someone to tell you?"

"My phone's dead." I knew this without checking. I forgot to charge it last night, and left it on during work today. "And I don't remember numbers by heart."

It's true. I don't know anyone's number by heart. If I lost my phone, I would have to ask everyone whose number was in my contacts for their number again. The only number I ever memorized was my ex-boyfriend's, and I've long forgotten that one. I don't even remember Sam's.

Troy started the car, and I felt a rush of warmth when the heat turned on. I turned on of the ducts directly towards my face and sighed. I waited for him to start driving, not even caring where he was taking me. I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes.

I was wondering when he would start driving, when I felt a slight bump and opened my eyes. Did we hit a pothole?

I blinked and realized that we were already halfway down the street. Turning in my seat, I saw the rail-road tracks disappearing behind us. That wasn't a pothole, it was the _tracks_. This car barely took notice of any bump in the road. The ride was so smooth that I had thought we weren't moving.

"Holy crap." I breathed. Troy looked at me questioningly. "This car...it's so smooth."

Compared to my car, that flew about ten feet over every single rock and pebble, this car felt like it was floating over calm waters.

Troy chuckled. "I guess.."

He _guesses?_ "No, I mean seriously." I was pretty excited about this. "This is freaking amazing!" I was gripping the edge of the seat, and for some reason, maybe because I was drunk, my heart was racing. Troy was looking at me occasionally as if I might have an episode or something.

"Well." He said after a pause. "No offense to your car, but compared to that thing this car must seem like a million bucks."

I laughed. "I hate my car, actually. I hope someone steals it. The only reason I lock it is because I leave candy in the glove compartment and don't want them to take that."

Now it was Troy's turn to laugh. He had a nice laugh; it wasn't overly excited or awkward at all. "You cherish the candy more than the car?"

"Yup. Maybe I'll take the candy out tomorrow and leave the key and the car unlocked. Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to my place." He said, keeping his eyes on the road. My heart thumped. "At least until your sobered up enough to know where you live."

"Do you have any paper?" I asked suddenly.

"Uh..there might be some in the glove compartment. Why?"

I scrambled to pull out the paper and fished a pen from under his registration and stuff. My heart was racing again, and I jotted things down quickly on the paper. I wanted to write, all of the sudden. I wanted to write so bad. And now, I had something to write about.

"I'm a writer." I said, not really paying attention. "And I just thought of something to write about."

That seemed to be enough of an answer for him, and he stopped talking. My wrist was hurting from the awkward position, but I just really needed to get this stuff down while I was still feeling it so I didn't forget. I wrote about this morning, about Sam, about Carly and Tina, the bar, Troy, and then his car. They were scribbled notes, but enough for me to turn them into real sentences later.

You may not realize it, but this was kind of huge. The first time I had something to write in years, even if it wasn't enough for an actual story. I was happy, really happy, and not because of the alcohol. Actually, the alcohol was starting make me feel sick, and I hoped we would be there soon.

I had a whole new buzz ringing in my ear, and I didn't notice when I poked my tongue out slightly in my annoying habit. I didn't notice the smile that grew on Troy's face when it happened, and I definitely didn't notice when the car stopped.

Troy was an awesome driver with an awesome car, and he'd just broken me out of my writers block.

* * *

**One down, who knows how many more to go :D**

**rEvIeW pLeAsE **

**peace out! **


	3. Sober

**Author's note: **_AHHHH IT WAS BEFORE TURKEY DAY SINCE I LAST UPDATED....I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON! D:_

_....I think I've got a phobia of updating. This one is kind of short, but I just wanted to get it out there. Sorry for any mistakes!!_

_so, if you're still reading this, haven't gotten and gray hairs since the last update, etc, enjoy :)_

_----_

I went through about four glasses of water before I was sober enough to talk straight, and by then the humiliation of my night hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been obnoxious, taken a ride home with a complete stranger, punched someone in the face, and said way, _way_ too much to people who I didn't know. It's funny sometimes, how something like alcohol, which makes one feel happy, can make you just as miserable a few hours later. I had called Sam about two hours after Troy brought me to his apartment, and he was there in three minutes. I didn't even have time to finish giving him directions.

I think he was waiting for my call.

"Gabriella." He said in exasperation. We were standing in the driveway, which was wet and slick from the rain. Troy had waited with me and the window until Sam got there, wished me luck when he saw Sam's face, and didn't come out with me. "What insane, completely ridiculous notion motivated you to get wasted and take a ride home with a stranger?"

I just stared at Sam, slowly registering what he'd said. His short, black hair was in complete disarray, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he'd been sleeping. Maybe he wasn't waiting. Or maybe he'd been so worried that he hadn't slept at all, therefore earning himself some circles under his eyes. The thought of sleep made me yawn, and his eyes widened even further.

Okay, so I wasn't _that _sober yet.

"I'm taking you home." He said quickly and took me by the arm, dragging me to his car. _Well thank god, isn't that why your here? _I thought. It was better than mine (his car, I mean); a red, Chevrolet truck. The seats inside were leather and cool and smelled like cologne. I had to hold onto the top of the car to lift myself into the passenger seat, because the truck was too high off the ground for me. As soon as he started the car, I opened the windows a crack, and he closed them gritting his teeth.

I had the urge to call him pissy, but decided against it. I tried to register how angry at me he was, but it was tough because his eyes were glued to the road and he refused to even talk to me. I kept searching his face though, desperate to know that my best friend didn't hate me right now. I wasn't sure if he wanted to talk, but I wanted to break the silence, so I released the only words that would be completely harmless.

"I'm sorry." I said quietly. If he heard me, he took no notice. His hands seemed to clench the steering wheel a bit tighter though. Suddenly, I felt the need to defend myself. It was probably the insecurity that having him angry at me brought, but the longer he insisted on scowling at the road, the more annoyed I became. "I mean, Jesus Christ!" I snapped. He looked at me, startled, before looking back at the road. "Why are you so mad? It's not like I did anything to you! Maybe cost you some sleep, but _god_ you're acting like I personally offended you!"

Sam exhaled through his nose, his straight face turning into a grimace. It wasn't long before he pulled into the gas station and stopped the car. I stared at him blankly as he turned to me, opening and closing his mouth as he attempted to say what he needed to say. I was patient, crossing my arms over my chest and keeping my breath steady. The hot air of the car's heaters made my lips feel dry, and I had to lick them enough to know that they would become chapped by tomorrow. Today. It was a few hours past midnight, and I was suddenly grateful to not be working today.

Finally, Sam turned, staring directly into my eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you were so lonely that a couple holding hands walking by made you go get wasted at some ratty pub downtown?" I saw the hurt clearly etched on his face, and felt guilty for snapping at him. "I mean," He breathed. "You're always telling me to meet someone, but why don't you worry about yourself for once? I was worried enough when your ran out of the bookstore, I called you like, five times and you didn't answer. Something could have happened to you and nobody would know to help you. You were just lucky that Troy guy wasn't some psychopath who picks up drunk girls from his bar!"

I cringed, knowing that Sam was right. It was a blow to my pride. Sam was childish, careless, and immature to a certain degree. Getting a lecture from him about acting properly was like being told to clean up my act by someone on Maury. Not sure what to say, I turned back to my window, glaring at the foggy glass as if to blame it for my problems. He sighed as the car started moving again. He muttered something about calling him when I get up, so we can go get my car. I think I nodded. The rest of the ride was silent until we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building. I just turned to step out of the car when he grabbed my wrist. I jumped and looked back. His face was suddenly so pained and desperate that I froze in shock.

"What?" I asked suspiciously. He let go and shook his head.

"Never mind. 'Night Gabs." I nodded and shut the door, incredibly freaked out. He waited until I was inside to drive off. I took one look around my small apartment, decorated with a contemporary style, a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room. I dropped my cell phone and purse on the couch as I walked by before going straight to my bed. I pulled off my jeans and collapsed into the white and plushy comforter. Curling in to a ball, hugging my knees, I fell asleep at last.

--

When I woke up, my head was pounding and my stomach churned with the slightest movement. I took some ibuprofen with water and felt a little better after a hot shower, but I still felt nauseous. When I passed by my desk, reserved for writing and abandoned for so long that spiderwebs had built up under the middle drawer, I suddenly remembered the notes I had taken the night before. I dumped everything out of my purse, retrieving the crumpled pieces of paper and looked at the words on them, trying to relive the words. My fingers gripped the edges of the paper as my heart sank.

These notes made no sense at all.

Half the words were scrawled so messily I couldn't read them, and the rest were irrelevant. I crumpled the paper and tossed it away, frustrated with my drunken self. Not only was I incapable of taking notes, I couldn't even remember what I was noting. So much for solved writers' block.

I decided to blame this on my car. If it didn't exist, I wouldn't have gone to that bar. I wouldn't have made a fool of myself in front of a bunch of strangers. I would remember everything I did last night. I wouldn't have to _go back_ today to retrieve it. I stomped my foot angrily and called Sam.

--

"You can go. I just want to stop in for a second to see if Troy's there."

"How do I know you're not gonna go get wasted again?" Sam was back and teasing again. I narrowed my eyes at him and he grinned. He'd driven me to get my car, and even though I had my keys and was completely capable of driving myself home, he insisted on staying with me.

"I swear. I'm too hungover. Just go." I shut his car door. He glared at me playfully before pulling out. I waved and turned back to the pub, pulling my coat around me tighter as the wind blew my hair in all directions. Collecting myself, I smoothed my hair and calmed my nerves. The door swung open easily, revealing the warmth of the bar. The lights gave the room a warm, yellow glow, and the smell of alcohol was a given. There was less people than yesterday, a few tables were occupied, and only two women sat at the bar.

I recognized them to be Tina and Carly. Carly's red hair was down and wavy, and she was relaxing against the bar. I wondered if she ever left. Tina was saying something about her lack of grandchildren when I walked up, holding my hands together in front of me in a nervous habit. Troy was there, wiping down the counter. Carly looked up when I walked in and smiled when she saw me. She raised her drink as if to cheer to me. I couldn't help but smile.

"Gabriella!" She called happily. Tina turned and smiled as Troy looked up. A look of surprise crossed his face before he smiled politely. I walked up to the bar in front of him, not sure what to say.

"Don't tell me you're gonna become a regular." He said, a playful smile on his face. I cringed at the thought of coming here and drinking myself senseless every night.

"That wouldn't be so bad!" Tina said, sipping her drink. I smiled sheepishly.

"No, sorry." I laughed. "Um. I actually wanted to say sorry for last night." I suddenly felt silly when he rose his eyebrows in surprise. However, I was determined to apologize. "I don't usually drink that much and..." I trailed off, sure he knew what I meant. Troy nodded, so I guess he did.

"You don't have to apologize." He said simply. I kind of wished he would just accept it and move on, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise. Again I was taken aback by how handsome he was, still managing a boyish charm. "But, now that you mention it, I'm not sure if I can forgive you."

I noticed the knowing grins on Tina's and Carly's faces as they observed. I rose my eyebrows in question and he smiled impishly. "Is that so?" He nodded. "Well, what can I do to make you forgive me?" I decided to play along, just to see where this was going. Troy reached under the bar and pulled out a pen and piece of paper, laying it out on the counter. I blinked. Carly chuckled.

"Your number." He said as I stared at the paper. "Write it down."

Tina let out an excited cackle and I looked up to see if he was serious. The smile on his face as he leaned against the counter suggested that he was. I did my best to hesitate, but in all honesty, I really wanted to give him my number. I sighed, taking the pen from him and writing down my number. Carly clapped slowly and I rolled my eyes, unable to resist the urge to smile. I put the pen down when I finished writing the number and he picked up the paper, looking satisfied.

"Happy?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"You also have to promise to answer when I call." He said, smiling. I held my hand up as if in surrender.

"Whoa, now. That's a whole other story." He rose his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. I tapped the paper. "You have to give me _your_ number, because I don't answer if I don't know who's calling." I smiled innocently. Troy shook his head at me, laughing quietly. He gave me a look that said _Okay, okay, I'll go along with this. _He jotted down a number with the pen and ripped the paper in half, giving me the half with his phone number. I smiled. "Thanks. Now I'll answer."

"If you don't." He said, still playful. "I'll never forgive you."

"If you don't call." I said evenly. "I'll never forgive _you._"

"Deal." He stuck out his hand and I took it, noticing the warmth that ran up my arm when I did so. My fingers tingled deliciously as they brushed against his.

"Fine." I looked down at my watch, noticing the time. "I better go though."

"Oh, can't you have a drink with us?" Carly said. She and Tina seemed to be over their fit of giggles at our exchange of numbers. Tina smiled hopefully.

"Sorry, I have to drive home." I scowled, picturing my car. "And my friends have trapped me into a night at the mall before they go on vacation for Thanksgiving."

"Hmm." She said, looking unhappy. I patted her shoulder and waved to Tina as I walked out. I paused in the doorway and looked back.

"Bye, Troy." I said, smiling. He returned the smile.

"See you later, Gabriella."

--

"Are we too old for this?" Taylor asked, watching with a slight pout as a group of giggling teens walked by, their short, floppy skirts and dangerously high heels making them look more than just tacky. I sighed as Kelsi snorted.

"We're not old." She said, twisting a lock of her auburn hair with one finger. Taylor looked at her disbelievingly and then to me. I shrugged.

"Maybe you just feel old since you have a kid." I offered. Taylor had been married for five years, and she was the only one of us that truly complained about age. She had a baby when she was twenty-two named Monique. Her husband, Chad, was the chief of police in Albuquerque, but was ironically immature.

"No." She said, shaking her head. "It's not just me. Chad feels old, too."

"Chad has a kid, too." I giggled. "_Yours._"

She glared at me playfully and sipped her water. Kelsi pulled out a black off-the-shoulder top and held it out in front of me, measuring it against my features. Nodding in approval, she tossed it over my arm. "Try that one on." She said. I nodded as Taylor picked out a pair of jeans. We tried on our clothes, stepping out of the dressing rooms to show the others between changes. Giggling when a shirt looked completely silly on one of us. The top Kelsi picked out for me fit exceptionally well, and I was feeling quite accomplished when we walked out of the shop.

We stopped at Friendly's and got a large sundae to split in the food court.

"What age do you consider old?" Taylor said, licking the back of her spoon. Kelsi shrugged.

"Thirty?" I suggested, more of a question than an answer. "I don't know. Whenever it hurts to stand up or people you don't know actually listen to you when you talk" I sighed. Taylor laughed.

"That's right. We all want wisdom of the elderly."

"All you have to do when you feel old is look at pictures of your mother." Kelsi said with a shrug. "That's what I do."

My eyes widened as the same group of teens walked by. "That's so mean." I caught Taylor watching them walk away longingly. I knew what she was thinking. _Remember when that was us? _I haven't done that since I was sixteen. Fourteen years! It's been over a decade since I wore short skirts, high heels, and swung my hips like I owned the place. Then I met Jason, but that's another story. Kelsi drummed her fingers on the table, silently playing one of her songs on the an invisible keyboard. She was a composer, writing and preforming piano songs when she was offered a gig. I went sometimes, when they weren't private parties. Her melodies were so magical that I sometimes asked her to play me some when I visit her.

I found myself playing the wad of paper that contained Troy's number in my pocket. I wondered what he would say when he called. Would he even call? Was that playful exchange at the bar nothing but? The thought made me feel sad, and I wondered why. As if on cue, my phone began to play.

_"I won't go getting tired of you--"_

I grabbed the phone faster than expected. Taylor and Kelsi rose their eyebrows at me and I looked down at the front screen, trying to see who it was.

_Sam calling..._

Sighed, I put the phone back down. He knew I was at the mall, I could just call him back later. I was too worried that my disappointment of it not being Troy would be in my voice when I answered. anyways. Taylor looked over at the phone right before it stopped ringing and made a face. I knew she didn't like Sam. When I'd asked her why, she said it was the way he looked at me. Like he owned me or something. I never notice, and felt the need to defend him. It turned into an argument and we didn't talk for about a week before I got over it and decided that Sam could take care of himself.

"We should go for drinks somewhere." Kelsi said, dropping her spoon into the empty ice cream container. I was over my hangover, but I had to work in the morning, so I declined their request. We explored the mall for a while longer until Chad called, saying that Monique was sick and Taylor had to rush home. We hugged, said our goodbyes and the night ended. I had an impressive lot of bags from the shops--a few necklaces and kinds of make up were the only items other than clothes, though.

I sighed and pulled out my phone, calling Sam back. I held it to my ear, waiting for him to answer. There was a short, maybe three seconds, pause before he picked up.

"What?" He said. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to start answering your phone like that. It's really unattractive." I replied, starting the car so that the heat could thaw my frozen limbs.

"Oh, hey." I could hear the smile in his voice. He sounded somewhat relieved. "I thought it was going to be my mother. She's pissed that I'm not coming up 'till Tuesday."

I clicked my tongue sympathetically. "Poor you. I was just returning your call."

"Oh. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and watch a movie tonight." I looked over at the time. It was only eight o'clock. I contemplated my options quietly before answering. I could go over, watch the movie, come home and sleep. Or, I could go home, watch some soap operas, and sleep.

"Okay. Sure." I said. "I'll just come right over?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Alright. See you soon." I hung up and pulled out of the parking lot. I was thinking that the movie would be some kind of comedy, probably a new one. Maybe a drama or action or something else a guy would like.

I thought I would go over and watch the movie. Maybe eat some popcorn. I didn't think it was anything more than that. What else could it be? I would watch, eat, leave, sleep. Simple, quick, and easy.

Apparently, Sam had other plans in mind.


	4. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Attention:**

**I'm very sorry for being gone forever, and for leaving without notice. I have many excuses but I will spare you the trouble of hearing them all. I'm also sorry to say that I will NOT be returning to fanfiction, simply because I have no interest in writing stories about other people's characters anymore. Instead, I have started an account on fictionpress, and if you would like to read my own, original stories there I would be very grateful. :) My writing has improved a bunch, and I have started my own story there called Exposed. **

**If you're interested, and are kind enough, go here:**

**http : / www . fictionpress . com/s/2872312/1/Exposed **

**(Without the spaces) to read my own original story.**

**Here is the summary:**

_**Each year during the Harvest Festival in Hoosick, travelers from all around come to invest in the village's festivities, but this year three travelers are up to no good. They're werewolves, and they're here to spread their infection.**_


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